


Valentine's Day 2014

by gabrielstolethetardis



Series: Valentine's Day [1]
Category: Doctor Who, Sherlock (TV), Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe- No Supernatural, F/M, M/M, Pre-Relationship, Superwholock, Valentine's Day
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-26
Updated: 2015-04-26
Packaged: 2018-03-25 19:53:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,679
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3822757
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gabrielstolethetardis/pseuds/gabrielstolethetardis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There's a Valentine's Day party at the Tylers' house, and love is in the air...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Valentine's Day 2014

"And I said, 'That sounds like a personal problem!'" Gabriel said, grinning at his own punch line.

Everybody chuckled, their laughter ringing through the crowded room. People were sitting on couches and love-seats, or on stools by the bar, or just standing around holding wine glasses. The Tyler household was huge--mansion-sized and lavishly furnished, at the moment with pinks and reds and whites--so there was plenty of room for a large number of guests, some of whom knew the Tylers only distantly.

John Watson was one such person. He'd heard about the party from Molly and had decided at the last moment to go, after Sherlock had abruptly disappeared without saying anything. Normally it didn't bother John, but it was Valentine's Day and for some reason John thought Sherlock would honour the holiday, even if he and John were only friends.

John finished his glass of champaign and let Gabriel's jokes fade into the background as he crossed the room and deposited his glass at the bar. He was about to turn and leave, maybe sit on one of the couches, but he paused for a moment next to a man hunched over a beer, his face twisted into an expression that made John swing onto a stool beside him.

"Hey," he said. The man glanced over briefly, his bright green eyes meeting John's for a moment, before turning forward and taking a swig of his beer.

"What do you want?" the man said gruffly. "Did Sam send you?"

John shook his head. "I don't know any Sam. My name's John, John Watson."

The man grunted. "Dean."

John waved his hand at the pretty bartender and ordered a whisky old-fashioned. "What's wrong, Dean?" he asked, ignoring the bartender's flirtatious wink.

"Nothing."

"Really? Because you look like hell."

Dean gave a wry laugh. "Something like that."

John waited patiently. The bartender came with his drink, sliding her phone number across the bar as well, but John simply picked up his drink and took a leisurely sip.

Dean sighed, turning to face John. "I'm just not having an awesome Valentine's Day, okay?"

John gave Dean a sympathetic smile. "Haven't found the right girl yet? You could try the bartender."

Dean finished off his beer, setting the glass back on the counter a little too hard. "She's not my type. Besides, I already have my sights set on someone."

"Oh?" John said, raising an eyebrow. "Who is she?"

Dean glared at John. "His name is Castiel."

John felt his cheeks flood with heat. "Well," he stammered, embarrassed, "you should tell… Castiel."

"I wish I could," Dean sighed, "but he's not interested."

He focused on something behind John, and John turned and followed his gaze to a love-seat that contained a man and a woman, talking and laughing. The woman had her arm slung across the man's shoulder.

"You see?" Dean said, sounding resigned. "He's with someone else."

"She's married and slightly drunk, and he feels uncomfortable but is trying not to show it so as not to offend her."

John whipped back around. Standing behind Dean with his hands clasped behind his back was Sherlock, his dark hair curling around his forehead. He gave John a slight nod. "Hello John."

"What?" Dean said, fixing the newcomer with a confused look.

"She's also not his type," Sherlock added, a small smile coming to his lips. "If you know what I mean."

Dean froze for a moment. Then, his eyes lit up and he stood abruptly. "Thanks man!" he said. He gave John a hard slap on the back as he headed in Castiel's direction, and John stumbled forward slightly under the impact, falling off of his stool.

After he regained his balance, John studied Sherlock for a moment before saying, "That was kind, Sherlock."

"I was simply stating facts," Sherlock said dismissively. "You can see by the way the man combs his hair that--"

"It was a kind thing to do," John interrupted, a smile rising to his lips. "You're a good person, even though people think you aren't sometimes."

Sherlock looked taken aback for a moment before saying slowly, "Thank you, John."

"Though besides the fact, I am basically annoyed at you right now."

Sherlock frowned. "You were just complimenting me."

"Yes, and now I'm not." John crossed his arms across his chest. "Where were you today?"

"Out."

"Out?" John repeated, shaking his head. "Out where? The hospital? The police station?"

"No."

"Then where were you?" John pressed. "It's Valentine's Day Sherlock. I'd like to spend it with my best friend."

Sherlock was quiet. His eyes, which before had been bright and alert, seemed to dim slightly. For a moment, he looked just like Dean had. "I'm sorry," Sherlock said, turning and taking quick strides out of the main room, disappearing down a side hallway.

"Damnit," John said under his breath, taking off after Sherlock. "Sherlock!" he called, turning down the hallway. Sherlock was nowhere in sight.

John peered into the rooms lining the hallway, pushing open doors to find more people clustered around tables and in groups. He ascended the stairs at the end of the hallway, spiralling upwards to the second floor.

On the top floor it was quieter, the noise and conversation of the party downstairs muted. John started down one of the upstairs hallways, calling Sherlock's name softly.

"Sherlock?" he said, glancing back and forth down the hall. There was a thump to his left, and John turned to see a door standing slightly ajar.

He pushed it open slowly, and a shaft of light filtered in to reveal a couple leaning against the wall, making out passionately. As the brightness fell on them they broke apart, and John recognised the girl as Rose Tyler, the host of the party downstairs. The man, who was thin as a rail and had hair that stuck up in every direction, squinted into the light. "Oi! Do you mind?"

"Sorry," John mumbled, closing the door again. His cheeks flushed slightly, he moved at a faster pace down the hall.

Just as he was about to give up, John saw a familiar black coattail disappear into a room on his right.

John slipped into the room, shutting the door behind him. It shut with a soft click. The room was dark, the only light being the moonlight shining in through a large window on the other side of the room. Sherlock was standing next to this window, his back to John.

"Sherlock?" John said quietly, stopping just behind him.

"Of course, just friends," Sherlock said, clearing his throat. "How silly of me."

John felt his heartbeat increase. "What's going on, Sherlock?"

Sherlock didn't respond. John moved to stand beside him, and his eye caught a flash of red in Sherlock's hand. "What is that?" he asked.  
"Nothing." Sherlock made to move his hand, but John grabbed his arm before he could. He moved Sherlock's arm so the object was fully illuminated.

John's eyes widened, and a gasp escaped his lips. It was a single red rose, but it was the most beautiful rose John had ever seen in his whole life. It practically shone in the moonlight, and when John went to take it from Sherlock's hand he didn't resist.

John ran his fingers over the petals, feeling their waxy surfaces underneath his fingertips. "It's amazing," he breathed.

"I had Molly genetically engineer a perfect specimen," Sherlock said. "I left today to pick it up from her."

John looked at Sherlock. He was staring straight out the window, his face tight. John felt a stirring sensation in his stomach, and suddenly he realised what was going on.

"What about my type?" John said, and Sherlock took his gaze from the window to look at John in confusion.

"What?" Sherlock said.

"You took one look at Castiel and could tell that he was gay." John held his hands out, the rose still clasped in his left hand. "What can you tell about me?"

Sherlock shook his head. "I can't… I don't know John."

"Oh, come on, you always know."

"I don't want to know!"

John didn't say anything. Sherlock looked slightly shocked at his own outburst. "I'm afraid," he said slowly, "that I won't like what I see."

John dropped his hands. "You mean you think you won't like what you see in me?" He didn't expect Sherlock's words to hurt as much as they did.

"No!" Sherlock exclaimed, putting his face in his hands. "That's not what I meant." He dropped his hands, his eyes filling suddenly with sadness. "I meant that you see us as just friends, and I…"

John felt his heart thumping loudly in his chest, the sound of his own heartbeat filling his ears. "You what?" he asked, his voice trembling.

"That rose is for you, John." Sherlock gave him a half-smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. "Happy Valentine's Day."

John looked at the rose in his hand. He could let it drop. His fingers twitched. If he dropped it, things would never be the same between him and Sherlock. They'd separate. John would probably get his own flat, somewhere on the outskirts of the city, and they'd only meet occasionally in passing on the streets. In time, they would become accustomed to being apart, and each of them would move on.

All of this ran through John's mind in a millisecond. He had a choice. Let go, or hold on tight. Lose Sherlock, or accept him.

John's hand tightened around the stem. There was only one direction he was willing to go.

There, silhouetted by the moonlight, John chose Sherlock. The rose never left John's hand, even as he wrapped his hands around Sherlock's neck and pulled him to him, kissing him softly at first and then with more passion. The stem stayed firmly clasped in between his fingers, the petals tangling with Sherlock's dark curls, blood red mixing with the blackest of blacks.

As the clock struck midnight, bringing Valentine's Day to an end, no one in the Tyler household found themselves alone.


End file.
